


So Much Trouble

by LennysDiary, NessieTheCad



Series: Diaries Inspired Works [2]
Category: Original Work
Genre: Angst, Anxiety, Anxiety Attacks, Anxiety Disorder, Awkward Romance, Choking, Co-Written, Diary/Journal, Emotional Trauma, Featured: Lenny and Ness make a literary love child, Gaelic Is So Sexy, God so much swearing, Irish, Irishman - Freeform, M/M, Masturbation, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, POV First Person, So much angst, Swearing, Tags May Change, There's No Such Thing As Too Much T.O.P., These boys do NOT have their shit together, Warnings May Change
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-17
Updated: 2021-02-05
Packaged: 2021-03-15 06:27:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 10,972
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28808820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LennysDiary/pseuds/LennysDiary, https://archiveofourown.org/users/NessieTheCad/pseuds/NessieTheCad
Summary: Trevor Lockheart is inso much trouble.But "trouble" is Caden McLoughlin's middle name.So they get into lots of it together.
Relationships: Original Male Character/Original Male Character
Series: Diaries Inspired Works [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2101503
Comments: 36
Kudos: 8





	1. Lucky's

**Author's Note:**

> A spin-off of Diaries, and joint project between myself and the wonderful NessieTheCad (Cadeucius), who takes sole credit for the precious Irish bean that is Caden. May or may not spoil the main series. 
> 
> Enjoy, you fabulous people.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _We drive for thirty minutes to Lucky’s, and when we finally arrive, here is where my night starts to turn into weird._
> 
> _Like, not bizarre weird, but more like uncanny coincidence weird._

TREV–

Hey there. My name’s Trevor Lockhart, and I am _so_ unrepentantly gay.

I’m also a virgin?

Yeah I know, I’m hopeless, but I’m told it’s an amicable quality and kind of cute, so it works for me. 

But yeah, I’m a mess. Just turned nineteen last month and sadly still haven’t been laid. Like, not even kissed. Matter of fact, I’ve never even _touched_ another human being in any way that isn’t totally platonic. I mean, I’ve kissed a guy on the cheek? But we’re just friends, and he’s kind of cute, but I swear that kiss meant absolutely nothing more than it would had I been kissing my mother. But I’ve never had any other kind of human contact, and it’s pretty sad, right?

Well, very soon that’s all about to change, and I’m here to tell you all about it, because it’s actually pretty interesting.

See, I live in a ridiculously small town. I grew up here. My parents bought a house on Camden Avenue when I was like two? And mom, and my little brother and I have lived in that house ever since. I’m not in any hurry to move away either, because ever since my dad died, mom has struggled to take care of us, and could really use the help right now. She’s not in any hurry to see me rush off to college either, though she tells me all the time that I should go. She just wants to look out for me.

But because I’m here in this tiny, conservative hick town, it’s kind of impossible to meet a guy. The handful of men I know that even swing that way are already in committed relationships too. Except for one? His name is Calvin Hayes, and we used to hate each other’s guts, but surprisingly, we’re friends now. Though Calvin and I have absolutely no chemistry whatsoever, and neither of us are really all that keen on fooling around and complicating our friendship.

But he knows I’m a virgin, and is constantly pressuring me to just bite the bullet and download a dating app to find a guy, since there certainly aren’t any around here. Part of me really isn’t all that concerned about rushing into having sex, because it doesn’t make me any less of a person just because I haven’t, but another part of me is also curious about it, and honestly I just really want a boyfriend? Whether or not we have sex, so I’m very tempted to take Calvin’s advice.

I just don’t want to be alone, and want to be able to talk to someone that maybe might be interested. But though I’m not about to download Grindr or something, I _am_ about to meet a guy tonight, and not just any guy either. _The_ guy. The one you want to read about, named Caden. But I’m getting ahead of myself here, because first I need to set the scene, don’t I? Well, it’s Friday night, and I’m sitting on my front porch, scrolling through Reddit, while I wait on Calvin.

I’m dressed up, because he asked if I wanted to go out tonight, and yes I do. I know I’m not old enough to be in a bar–neither of us are, because Calvin’s only twenty and the legal age is twenty-one–but depending on the bar we go to, nobody will really pay that much attention to us, much less think to check for ID, and it’ll get us out of the monotony of showing up to yet _another_ house party like always. And I’m currently waiting for Calvin to pick me up in his truck.

We hang out a lot these days. Ever since he came out to everyone, even to his ex best friend, some douchebag named Rodney Hicks, he doesn’t have that many friends, and what mutual friends we do have are all older than us? So he likes hanging out with me because we’re close in age, despite us having next to nothing in common. He’s totally a redneck and I’m totally not, so we don’t always vibe together, because I’m not an outdoorsy type. But we play Halo, which is cool.

But anyway, there’s supposed to be a band playing tonight at a bar by the interstate, called Lucky’s, that Calvin really wants to check out. He’s actually bisexual, which means his chances of getting laid tonight are 100%, whereas mine are probably zilch, but I don’t mind tagging along just to maybe have a drink or two and listen to some music. It’ll probably suck, but I like Calvin, and I’m a good friend. So I wait on my porch, looking pretty good–but not _too_ nicely dressed because oh my God the looks I would get.

Like, I’m averagely good. Moderately good. Just a nice normal level of good. Not in my comfort zone though, because usually I’m wearing a hoodie, but tonight I replaced it with just a regular jacket that zips up, and underneath that I’ve got on a shirt I found that just says, “Good Vibes.” Dark washed jeans, and I even took an old toothbrush and cleaned up my shoes. Stupidly expensive pair of Docs I had to order, because you just can’t buy good clothes around here. (Walmart doesn’t count.)

Calvin pulls into the driveway and honks the horn of his pick-up truck, catching my attention. So I slip my phone in my pocket and step off the porch. I walk over and I climb inside the truck to see Calvin’s blonde hair is styled and he’s actually not wearing that stupid camo hat for a change. Also like a really nice dress shirt. But still jeans, and he has on cowboy boots instead of work boots, and looks like every country music video and what a cliché.

It’s sad, but in a semi cute way and it works for him.

We drive for thirty minutes to Lucky’s, and when we finally arrive, here is where my night starts to turn into weird.

Like, not bizarre weird, but more like uncanny coincidence weird.

Anyway, there’s a guy at the door asking for cover charges to enter, but it’s somebody that Calvin knows, some friend of his cousin or something, so he lets us in for free (Don’t tell the band.) Neither does he make us show our IDs to get inside, so I’m feeling pretty good. Yeah, so maybe I look super young, but I think I can pass for that, “I like _just_ turned twenty-one,” so I’m not really worried about having problems tonight. The band is still setting up, but already the place is packed.

Calvin nudges my shoulder and gestures to the bar. He’s paying for drinks tonight, and I know you’re going to make a comment about Calvin drinking while driving, but he’s _only_ going to have _one_ beer, I promise, and by the time we leave he’ll have had plenty of time to sober up. He’s not much of a drinker, not as much as I am. But me, I’m definitely in the mood for something super strong and super capable of knocking me on my ass, because it’s the only time I’m able to talk to strangers.

Yeah, did I mention my anxiety? Right, so, I can’t talk to people. Sometimes I struggle just to make conversation with my friends. Another reason why I like hanging out with Calvin is because he doesn’t mind that. He’s not much of a talker either. Only when he’s pissed or something’s bothering him. He’s a stone wall, otherwise. So we don’t talk a lot, and when we’re hanging out, he’s doesn’t get angry if I don’t feel like talking. But mostly it’s because I don’t know what to say.

With strangers, it’s even worse. I freeze up and panic. I don’t know why, because I mean it’s not like I don’t _want_ to talk to people, I just _can’t_ sometimes. Unless I get drunk. Which I do a lot. There’s not much else to do where I live. So I party nearly every weekend because there’s always someone over twenty-one that’s willing to buy beer, and always a house to go to and hang out, with no worry or care of getting caught. And when I drink I’m actually somewhat calm.

So Calvin and I make our way over to the counter, right? We wait for other customers to be handed their drinks so we can take their place, and squeeze in to order ours. I see the bartender and…

I honestly don’t know how to describe what I’m feeling when I see him, but…

…He’s _gorgeous_.

He’s probably in his mid twenties, and he’s got fairly long hair. I can’t tell how long it is exactly, because it’s currently pulled back and out of the way of his face, but I bet it’s _glorious_. A somewhat chiseled face and nice teeth to match. He’s smiling at something another customer had said before he turns to me and Calvin. He looks tall, but he’s not overly large and muscular, though very fit. Kind of…uhm, wiry? Is that the right word? (Lenny, help me out here. You’re the writing genius, not me.)

He definitely looks like he works out.

I wonder if he ever works out _naked_ …

Okay back the fuck up, Trevor, you literally just laid eyes on this guy.

Oh but he’s _perfect_ though.

His smile drops and his expression becomes serious when he notices us, turns and then approaches, leaning against the counter when he asks, “What can I get for ya?” In the most charming Irish accent I’ve ever heard. Don’t hear that sort of thing around here. Could be a college student that transferred, but the nearest campus is _hours_ away, and working here would only be an inconvenience, especially when there are other places to work part-time that would be much closer.

I have _so_ many questions, but suddenly I’m too scared to open my mouth.

Calvin orders two bottles of Budweiser. (Not strong enough. Oh well. It's free.)

The Irishman doesn’t take his eyes off me.

He doesn’t suspect either of us are underage, does he?

He shouldn’t have to ask for our IDs because _technically_ someone is supposed to be checking them at the door. (Only he didn’t.) He should _know_ that if we’re in here, we’re both of age, right? So why the fuck is he giving me that look? But nevertheless, he hands us both a beer and the change from Calvin’s twenty dollar bill. We wander away from the bar and find a good place to hang out and slowly sip our beer, waiting for the music to start. Then this cute girl walks up to Calvin and starts flirting.

She’s a country girl. I can tell by the way she’s wearing a cocktail dress but with cowgirl boots instead of heels, so it’s kind of a no brainer. I’m abandoned for a moment, as Calvin turns to face her and chats her up for a time. I don’t really hear the conversation because I’m not actively listening, so all I hear is a bunch of southern twang. The band starts playing and they’re still talking, which means Calvin’s _totally_ into her. I won’t be surprised if he gets her number tonight.

Or even goes home with her, leaving me to drive his truck back to town all by myself.

I’m just about to walk back over to the bar when _another_ accent fills my ears again, as someone sidles up to me, but makes me panic because this time it’s right up next to my ear, since the music is so loud.

Blood rushes very south of my brain when I hear that thick Irish brogue start murmuring in my ear.

“Pardon me, kid. But c’n I see yer ID, please?” the bartender asks and I look up at him.

He does _not_ look happy, and fuck I was right, he thinks I’m too young to be here.

Holy shit am I in _so much trouble._

But hey, it wouldn’t be the story title otherwise, now would it?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: ["Heathens"–Twenty One Pilots](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=oLeROuCMwj8&feature=share)
> 
> Lenny's Playlist : [Can Be Found Here](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs9t3Gq_3S-xySSBD43ZGThT)
> 
> Chat with the writers on Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	2. Big Baby Blues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Ah, fuck. I knew today was gonna be a bad day._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, how about this shit. Never thought I'd see the day I was posting on AO3, much less on a co-authored book with my favourite AO3 author. Well, I'll keep this short. Well. Shortish. This is my first time posting _any_ of my work, let alone on AO3. So, that's a thing. Let me know your thoughts, etcetera etcetera. Also, a huge, huge fuckin' thank you to Lenny, this means the world to me, yada yada, alright, let's get on with the good shit. Make sure to comment, too. Lenny really fuckin' loves it, and I love listening to him squee the fuck out.
> 
> Chapter Song: [ "The Longing"-Storm Seeker](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZCnttPJHt6s)  
> Caden's Playlist can't be found, because I can't be fucked to finish it at five in the morning. Don't worry, you'll get it.
> 
> –Ness

CADEN–

Ah, fuck. I knew today was gonna be a bad day. Just one of them feelings you get when you're waking up. You open your eyes, and for some fuckin' reason, ya just know, _somethin's_ gonna go wrong. Might be you stub your toe as your walkin' down the hall. Might not be until the end of the day. But you just know. Somethin's gonna happen today. And it looks like mine's just walked in.  
  
The day started well enough, as they go. Woke up to the unfamiliar ceiling of my new apartment, got up and made my cup of tea, and got dressed for work. Black pants and tee, the closest thing to a uniform I'll ever be caught dead wearin'. Then, got into my rental, and drove to work. I've been workin' part time at the bar on the interstate, Lucky's, for obvious fuckin' reasons. 

Any bar named Lucky's would kill t'get an Irish bartender, so it's not terribly hard to find work when I'm movin' about. This shithole of a town isn't where I'd usually find myself by choice. Right full of culchies, which, if you're not familiar with the term, is the irish word for redneck. But, me Da's gettin' married, so here I am. She's nice enough, as they come, and I get along well with her family.  
  
So, here I am, in the arse end of nowhere, workin' at yet another bar called Lucky's. It's Friday, so they've got the band in to play, which means a bigger crowd than usual. So, I'm working away, servin' up drinks with both hands, when the crowd parts, and these two walk up. And here's that bad feelin' of the morning, coming to kick me in the ass. The first one's fine, another cowboy in to see if he can get “Lucky at Lucky's,” but it's the second one who's got my eyes.  
  
Now, I'm at work, which means that I'm not really paying attention to how good looking someone is, I'm just serving the drinks. But this one... He's a real sweetheart, he is, and he's got those snake bite piercings that I would just love to tug on. Oh, in case ya hadn't figured it out, I'm gay. Yes, a gay Irishman, big fuckin' deal. Now, on with what ya came for. Because the problem is, there is no fuckin' way this boyo is over twenty one. 

A bare eighteen, maybe. If I'm lucky. But he shouldn't be in here, and from the look in his eyes, he knows I can tell. But, his buddy is ordering his drinks, and I've got too much of a line to say anythin' right now. So, I pop the caps on a coupl'a Bud's, and pass 'em along. They slip out of the crowd around the bar, and head towards where the band is setting up, and I get back to work. But those big, baby blue eyes are stuck in my damn head.  
  
See, normally I've got no problem with a boyo getting in a few drinks, just to while away the time an' have some fun. But, like I said, I'm working tonight, and if someone calls the cops because of a minor, it'll be on my head for not kicking him out. So, I work the rush, and eventually the band starts up. They're not bad, although they're no Flogging Molly. 

I tap the bar, and say to Mike, “I'll be back in a minute, hey?” He nods, wiping down the counter, and I slip out. He's watching his friend, who's chatting up some cowgirl in a dress, so I sidle up behind him. The band is playin' loud, so I have to lean in, and I'm doing my best not to let my imagination run to Leeds as I get right up against him, and say, “Pardon me, kid. But c'n I see yer ID, please?”  
  
The look in his eyes says it all. Fuck. Not only is he underage, he's probably still a minor. He just looks up at me, and I can see the panic running around in that cute fuckin' head of his. I repeat myself, in the vain hope that maybe this kid just hasn't been carded before. “Can I see your ID, please.” That seems to do the trick.  
  
“I-I like, _just_ turned twenty one,” he stammers out.  
  
Shit. Didn't anyone ever teach this kid how to lie?

Internally, I sigh. I really don't want to give this boyo a hard time, especially because he's a real looker, too. But, I need the job while I'm in town, and all it takes is one drunk idiot throwing a punch for the cops to get called. He'd probably be smart enough to book it. Probably. I sigh out loud this time. “Y'can either show me yer ID, and get thrown out, or you can decide that now's a good time to head home, and I'll go back to making drinks. Your choice.”

The poor kid stands there, frozen, his eyes flicking over me, and then to his buddy, who's still chatting up the girl.

“N-now's a good time to go.” 

I nod, relieved. “Fair play, boyo.” Then, I turn my ass around, and go back to the bar, just in time to catch the next run of customers. I wish I could've done that differently, but there's no time in life for regrets. 'Specially not in bars.  
  
I look up once or twice while I'm serving drinks, but I don't see head nor tails of him for the rest of the night. It's only by the third time I glance around that I realize who I'm looking for, and I sigh. “Jaesus, Caden. Let's not get all doe-eyed now,” I mutter to myself. The rest of my shift goes as usual, without much to comment on. The band plays, the crowd shuffles along, and I manage to keep busy between serving the customers and cleaning the bar.

Finally, it's last call, and I'm popping the last few caps of Bud, and closing out the tabs. The last few stragglers shuffle out, and Mike and I start cleaning up. We don't tend to chat much. We're both here because it was easier than going somewhere else, so there's not a lot of common ground to go over. Still, we get along well enough, as it is.  
  
We're restocking the bar when the boss comes around, doing his rounds for the night.

“Any trouble?” He asks, looking between the two of us.

“Nope,” Mike says, and leaves it at that. I just shrug.

“Nothin'.”

“Alright then.”

We have an arrangement, seein' as I'm not planning on being in town more than a month at most, and he pays me in cash. He pays me out, and then it's finally time to head home. Lord, I'm wrung out after that. I could go fer a drink myself.  
  
I'm almost home when those big, terrified blue eyes pop into my head again, and I groan. I smack my head against the steering wheel.

“He's just another culchie. He's got no interest in ya. Leave it be, ya big eejit.” 

Despite th' fact I'm saying this to myself, those big baby blue's just won't leave me alone. I sigh, and pull up at my apartment. How long's it been...? Probably a few months, at the least. The last time was with that fella over in Virginia, as I was passin' through. One of those random chance encounters, where we didn't have t'say much. He was nice enough, as they come, but he wasn't quite the type I like the most.

Not like, say, a certain someone with big, blue eyes, and a pair of snakebite piercings. I swear, and slam the door of the rental. I'm in a bad way, and I only spoke to the kid once. _What am I doin' with myself?_ I shake it off, and try to clear my mind as I head upstairs.  
  
While I'm going, I pull out my phone to check if anyone's texted me while I was at work. I can't help but smile when I see the name of my new step-sister. She's a good one, and we hit it off right away. She's got a wicked sense of humour, and she's had me in fits more than once before, and she's a real girl, the kinda girl that'd get called one of the boys back home. She's also into women, so we sort of have bein' gay in common, though she doesn't know it yet.

It's not that I'm worried about anyone bein' upset or judgin' me for it. Just that we've only known each other for a handful a days. I type out a quick reply, toss my moonstruck ass into the shower, and try to clear my thoughts. I make it all the way up until I'm layin' in my bed before those big blue eyes come back to haunt me.  
  
Well, fuck it, I think. Might's well. So I close my eyes, and picture him, hand wanderin' south. Imagine him bitin' that lip... picture a tear or two wellin' up in those eyes, and the gasp he'd make when my hand goes around his neck... I should probably mention, afore you get too far into this story. I'm about as sadistic a fuck in bed as you can imagine. I've not really played about with ropes or anythin' like that, but when it comes to bottom versus top? There's no way in hell I'm on the bottom, ever. 

I wonder if he'd enjoy it, being choked. If he'd enjoy lookin' up into my eyes, as I watch him, workin' him like he's a fiddle. I wonder if he'd enjoy the rough, biting, scratchin' and clawin' sex that I haven't gotten in a long, long time. I'm really startin' to get close, imagining him, gaspin' and cryin', beggin' for more...  
  
And then, my mind strays over to another pair of eyes. Darker, brown, in a plainer face. Short, curly brown hair, that never saw the touch of a comb, not even...

My hand comes off, like I burned myself, and I curse, opening my eyes. 

Not that face. 

I can't think about that face, ever again.

So, I look up at my ceiling and count the cracks, trying to stave off the wallowing depression that always crawls over me whenever I see that face in my head. I try and think about nothing, and eventually, the memories fade away. I'm left flat on my back, with an empty tank and nowhere to go. I get up and make myself a cup of tea, knowing it's gonna be a long while before I can brave sleep, and the dreams it'll bring.  
  
My name is Caden McLoughlin, and today is the day I met the boy that threw me on my ass, and not for the last time. 

Nowhere fuckin' near.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: ["Heathens"–Twenty One Pilots](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=oLeROuCMwj8&feature=share)
> 
> Lenny's Playlist : [Can Be Found Here](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs9t3Gq_3S-xySSBD43ZGThT)
> 
> Chat with the writers on Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	3. Monotony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _So much for getting out of the monotony._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Stressed Out"–Twenty One Pilots](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=K1FlAphL2p8&feature=share)

TREV–

Calvin is pissed when we have to leave the bar. Well, _he_ didn’t have to leave, I did, because that sexy fucking bastard of a bartender only gave me two choices: get out, or he would _throw_ me out, and I picked the less confrontational of the two. I grabbed Calvin, made up some bullshit excuse of having something come up, and that I had to go home. Yeah, so Cal got fucked out of a date, and we’re headed back to town. 

So much for getting out of the monotony.

But I mean it beat the alternative, which was getting arrested, so I’m chugging an energy drink I bought at the gas station when Calvin stopped to get coffee to sober up and get the smell of beer off his breath, in case we get pulled over. A word of advice, kids: stay sober while driving. I’m a nervous wreck because I came so close to possibly being arrested for underage drinking, and I internally swear up and down I will _never_ set foot in a bar until I’m actually twenty-one.

“Why the fuck would you even lie like that?” Andy asks me, after Calvin has dropped me off at his and Amy’s one bedroom efficiency apartment in town, and I’m sitting on their couch, huffing a cigarette I bummed from Amy, and I’ve told them both what happened. “Man, your ass’ll get caught quicker if you just straight up fuckin’ lie about shit. But had you _told_ him you’re only nineteen and that you were just there to see the band, he woulda been like ’ight then. ‘Cause you suck at that lying shit.”

“Wouldn’t have worked anyway,” I say. “He saw me drinking. I didn’t have time to toss the bottle before he confronted me. And he remembered selling it to me.”

“Well, then you shoulda turned that shit around on him. Been like, ‘Hey man, you’re the one that sold it to me. Shoulda been payin’ better attention’.”

I sigh, and say, “Well it doesn’t fucking matter now, does it?”

Amy is sitting cross legged on the floor beside the couch, breaking up weed on the coffee table to roll it into a joint for her Andy, and Stoney, and she asks, “Trevor, babe, why didn’t you just text me and tell me you guys wanted to drink tonight? I would’ve bought you guys some beer.”

I fidget a little, tugging at one of my lip rings with my teeth. “I dunno,” I say. Then I shrug. “Just kind of… wanted a change of scenery. Like… I just wanted get away for a while. Like, I’m just sick and tired of doing the same shit every day and, like, we literally don’t do anything else.”

Stoney, who’s at the far end of the couch, hunched over in a dining chair, huffs, “Yeah, well, it damned near got your ass thrown in jail, man. You gotta think about that kinda shit before you just up and go to a bar. Trust me man, been there, done that shit, and like, I regret it, you know? I regret a lot of things, and granted I wouldn’t be the person I am today if I hadn’t learned those lessons, but at the same time, I wish I could go back and change that shit. If I could, maybe my ass wouldn’t have spent so much time locked up instead of livin’ my life.”

I try to resist the urge to roll my eyes, listening to Stoney give me this speech, like he’s so much older and wiser than me. I love my cousin, her boyfriend and his best friend, I love all of them, I really do, and it feels good to know people care about me, but there are times when I wish they didn’t. Because then I wouldn’t have to listen to them be so condescending, like they’re so much more mature than me, just because I’m younger than they are. 

Amy is only twenty-seven, and Andy and Stoney are only thirty.

Like, that’s really not that much older, and like _they_ have any room to talk about doing the right thing when they’re sitting here smoking weed and enabling me to drink, right? But it’s whatever, I guess. All three of them know I’m gay and they don’t care. Which is more than I can say for my friends list. Forget my mom and my brother too. Because, like, I still haven’t even told them I’m gay, because I love them both, but mom is kind of low-key passive-aggressive, and Corey is basically everything I’m not.

He likes sports and that kind of thing, and thinks that everything that’s dumb is ‘gay’ and says, “Ew dude, don’t be gay,” whenever I do something that he perceives as in any way effeminate whatsoever. I wouldn’t be quick to say he’s homophobic, but he’s just influenced by his highschool friends and they’re all ‘manly’ jocks like him. I was sincerely hoping that using the term gay as an insult would die with my generation, but sadly it hasn’t yet. I hear him say some of the dumbest things sometimes.

I remember my own struggle in highschool, and how my friends used to influence me, so I relate. 

But Corey is also weirdly misogynistic and has some pretty majorly antagonistic views that he has yet to fully realize are actually pretty toxic and in no way actually funny whatsoever. So I can only imagine how he would react if he knew that his brother wasn’t just “effeminate” sometimes, and not just a shy angsty dork with zero social skills, but actually gay in real life. I’m pretty sure it would only make him more distant than he already is, which is so drastically different from how we were when we were both little.

I don’t know, but maybe it’s just that he still hasn’t gotten over us losing dad, and that’s the reason why he’s such a jerk. Like, acting out because he doesn’t have a father figure in his life anymore, and unlike me, he’s still immature about dealing with grief like that. But me, I’m over it. Maybe. 

(I’m not, but I function at least.)

But anyways, despite how shitty Andy, Amy and Stoney might seem because they drink and do drugs and whatnot, they’re actually a much better crowd to hang out with, because they genuinely don’t care that I’m gay, and though Andy makes gay jokes all the time, they’re 100% satirical, not serious at all, and he’s actually like super woke about shit.

He’s like the best boyfriend my cousin has ever had and totally treats her like a queen. That’s really all I care about? That he treats Amy right, and that he’s not a complete douchebag.

Stoney is kind of the same. He’s like super intimidating because he’s so much bigger than me and he’s legit been to prison, but he doesn’t get weirded out by anything people say and do. I guess that five years in prison desensitized him to a lot of things, one of them being weirded out by seeing other men naked. So he’s like 100% secure in his sexuality, and isn’t bothered seeing two men make out or something.

And even though he’s not bi (or so he says) he’s even cool with showing other men affection. Like, he’ll run up to Andy and smack his cheek with a kiss, grinning about it, because he knows it pisses Andy off. I actually worked up the courage and jokingly asked him one time why he never did that to me, and he just said he didn’t want to mislead me or anything. 

But yeah, these are my friends. This is how they are. They don’t make me feel weird about my sexuality or even my feminine appearance, because like, I’m _not_ a masculine guy. Like, at all.

But my friends legit don’t fucking care and it’s awesome. 

By the end of the night, I don’t feel any better about getting kicked out of a bar, but at least I’m reminded of the fact that I do have people in my life that adore me and it feels good. I don’t get high with them, but I do end up drinking a beer after Andy offers to run to the store and pick up a 30 pack of Budweiser. 

God I hate Budweiser, and so totally wish I was drinking with Lenny right now, because he buys better brands.

* * *

So, despite how young I am, I’m still legally an adult and my ass has got fucking bills to pay, so a few days later I’m back to the daily grind. I work at the grocery store. Both Amy and I work there actually. She’s the one that got me the job and she’s a supervisor. She tries to line up our work schedules to match so she can give me a ride to work, and we go back at it, bagging groceries and taking cash or credit from customers. In between customers I’ve been sneaking my phone out and checking my messages.

I’ve been texting someone. 

A _guy_ , to be specific.

I gave in and downloaded an app? And I actually met someone, who’s only maybe a couple of hours away, and we’ve been flirting. He knows I’m only nineteen, but he’s only twenty-six anyway and that’s not that much older. His name is Garret, and I don’t know much else about him yet because… well, we’ve been doing more flirting than actually getting to know one another. He comes on kinda strong? Like the very first text he sent me was, “Hey sexy ;),” and it’s different than what I’m used to, but I’m kind of into it. I like confident men. 

Not _egotistical_ men, but yeah, confident.

I rarely get to flirt, ever, and I’m probably terrible at it, but every message he sends back is all good vibes and he really seems like he’s into me too, so I just run with it. But close to the end of my lunch break he texts me, “You should show Daddy some pics baby, I wanna see you <3” And my heart starts racing. I dig that he calls himself ‘Daddy’ because it’s kind of kinky, but I’m in the middle of a fucking _grocery store_. Dick pics are kind of out of the question right now. So I text back, “Cant. Sorry. I’m at work rn. So maybe later?”

He sends me back a sad face emoji. But then sends a smirking one, and then asks, “Can you go to the bathroom and snap something really quick to hold me off until later? Pretty plz?” And I sigh.

I’m outside smoking a cigarette but I snuff it out on the bottom of my shoe and head back inside. I’ve got five minutes left before I go back, so it’s just enough time to head to a stall in the men’s room, snap a quick pic of me lifting my shirt to show off my abs. I don’t show my face in the pic though, because I’m not very good at making sexy faces. God I’m acting like such a fucking slut right now. 

Am I slut for doing this? Despite being a virgin? Like, does that check? Be honest.

So I send him the pic then wait for his response. It’s a string of heart eyes emojis, and then, “So sexy. Give Daddy more plz?”

Jesus man. 

This thirsty motherfucker.

Fuck, whatever. 

So I send another pic, and this time I’ve partially pulled my work pants down and my hand is inside my boxers. My heart is pounding so hard right now. Not like I’m turned on or anything? Yeah no, not from excitement. But it’s pounding right now from the sheer anxiety of having just texted a stranger I barely know a picture of me with my hand down my pants, grabbing my own dick. 

I regret sending it almost immediately because I just _know_ I would never do something like this in real life. Like, this is not who I am, but the phone screen between the two of us makes me much braver than I normally would be. Garret texts me back, “Such a tease :P” And I smear a hand across my face.

What am I doing right now? Seriously. Why am I fucking doing this? Don’t get me wrong it’s fun flirting with him, but I’m not really feeling any attraction to him right now. I’m totally not in the right headspace for this shit. I’m just… I’m not into this. This is not what I want. Fuck. I should just block him maybe.

I text, “Bbl gotta go back to work,” then slip my phone in my pocket.

I pull up my pants, then flush the toilet, just in case someone walked in, so they think I just finished using the facilities.

When I go back to work, I seriously contemplate blocking Garret or just deleting my account.

Amy, at the next register, finishes ringing someone up and cashing them out, then takes a moment to walk over to my register and say, “So we’re like, going out to Smoke’s this weekend. Lee’s having some kind of graduation thing or something like that. And I guess she’s wanting us to meet somebody? I dunno. But it's like this huge thing and she's wanting everybody to come. Wanna ride with us? Or are you gonna be busy?” Luckily she doesn’t seem to notice how stressed I am after what I just did. 

Probably just look the normal level of stressed that Amy is used to seeing all hours of the day, so it’s nothing new.

But she’s asking if I want to go to Andy’s dad’s house this weekend.

Fuck. The monotony. Okay yeah. I guess. What else do I have to do? Nothing, that’s what.

“Yeah I’ll come,” I agree and she nods at that. 

Great, another house party.

Nothing to really look forward to , is there?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well....Is there? ... 😏
> 
> Theme Song: ["Heathens"–Twenty One Pilots](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=oLeROuCMwj8&feature=share)
> 
> Lenny's Playlist : [Can Be Found Here](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs9t3Gq_3S-xySSBD43ZGThT)
> 
> Chat with the writers on Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	4. The Trick

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _I find myself countin' down the days to Lee's party, and hopin' I can get absolutely fluthered, and let loose for a while. Lord knows, I need to blow off some steam afore I snap._
> 
> _Maybe this'll do the trick._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Renegades"–X Ambassadors](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=crMU3aZ5lLA&feature=share)

CADEN– 

My bloodshot eyes open on another dreary day. I had those fuckin' nightmares again, just like I thought I would, and I feel like I barely slept. Now, normally I'd roll over, and just go back t'sleep, but I promised my soon-to-be step-sister that I'd come for a visit today. So, I drag my weary ass up, and make myself a cup of tea. I'm too tired to even think about eatin' anything, so I take a shower, and comb my hair. The act makes me think of my Ma, like it always does. I've been thinkin' about her more often than usual.

I suppose it makes some sort a' sense, considering the weddin' and all, but I'm still not sure how I feel about it. I do miss her, but I don't like ta think about her too much, especially after what happened. I stare at the reflection in the mirror for a moment, seein' my Ma's brown eyes, and my Da's nose. Everyone back home'd be talkin' about how it's bad luck, marryin' another “Foreign Girl.”

I miss home, too, a lot more'n I figured I would. Not the people, but the place. I miss the ancient fuckin' cobbled streets, the one generator that was only on between four o'clock to ten. I miss the Ol' Shanks Tavern, with it's stone walls and horrid drafts, and I'm still not comfortable with the fact there's no switch for the immersion, to turn off the hot water afore it runs out. But it's too fuckin' early to be gettin' maudlin, so I towel my hair, shave, and head back into the kitchen for another cuppa with breakfast.

I'm on my way out the door when I get another text from her, tellin' me to “Hurry my ass up,” an' I can't help but chuckle. I type out a quick reply, and get into the rental, drivin' as fast as I can without breakin' the limit. It doesn't take too long t'get there, especially seein' as there's not a single fuckin' stoplight the whole way. I'm up the steps in a flash, and knockin' on the door with a big ol' grin on my face. She opens the door, and sees my grinnin' mug standing there, and grins back.

“What up?” She says this every time we meet, and the first time she said it I had no idea what it meant, so I just said the first stupid bollocks that came to mind.

“Eff off, ya fine thing.” (She really is beautiful, an' she might not say so, but she appreciates the compliment.)

She's got a good face, and brown hair that she's let down today. She's wearin' one a them Marvel tee shirts, I think the one for Black Widow, and a pair of jeans that fit her well. She lets me in, and I can't help but feel like I'm comin' home in a way when I see her apartment. She's got posters up on the walls, boxes of comics in the corner, bookcases full of movies, and a shelf full a figures, all boxed up still. It feels like the bedroom of any Irish boyo I ever knew, and for a moment I can even smell the old smokes every Irish lad snuck in from the time he was twelve. She follows me in, an' the two of us drop down onto her couch.

“You look like shit,” she says to me, her grin fading as she looks me in the eyes.

“Ah, just didn't sleep well. Don't bother yourself over it.” She keeps checkin' me over for a minute, then lets it go. That's another nice thing about Lee. She keeps herself out of other people's business, which I appreciate. “So, how's she cuttin'?” I ask, smilin' at her.

She loves learning all the slang words that we use back home, an' it's nice t'just relax and let my accent run wild for a while. “Well, you're coming to a party on Saturday, so I can show you off to everybody. And you have to come, because it's my graduation party.”

I chuckle. “Well, aren't you a cute hoor.”

For those of you who need a translator, a cute hoor is someone who's pullin' people's strings behind the scenes, and gettin' em to do what they want em to. She rolls her eyes at me, smiling, and I chuckle. “Alright, I'll bunk off on Saturday.” We spend the next few hours just talking, havin' a laugh. She loves rock music, and I'm havin' a blast introducin' her to Irish rock, which she says is the first time she's ever heard a fiddle played in a rock song. I won't lie t'ya, I felt some good ol' Irish pride right there.

On the other hand, she introduces me to more American rock, which I'll admit, I'm truly enjoyin'. Before long, we're both just jammin' out to some good music, and it's fun to act the maggot for a while, an' have some good ol' fun. Lee's been in college the past few years for her art, and the girl is a deadly artist. She's been goin' to school for graphic design, to learn t'make comics an' shit, and she's got a real knack for it. She doesn't make a fuss about her work, but I know she's proud a herself for workin' her way through college, an' honestly, so am I.

I know I've only known the girl for a while, but most people in Ireland've never been to college, and in the small towns like where I'm from, some don't even bother goin' to school past the early grades, especially when the nearest school could be two hour's ride away. So there's no way in hell I'm missin' this party, even if I get fired for missin' a Saturday at the pub. That's what family's for. Ye can find a new job, but ye can't find a new family. She might not be my blood, but she's already family, that I can tell ya fer certain sure.

Of course, the carefree times can't last forever, and eventually I head on my way. Truthfully, I'm lookin' forward to the party. Culchies may not have much goin' on, but there's one thing they know how to do well, and that's party. The next few days are more of the same. Workin', sleepin', and making my arrangements for the wedding. The only trouble is, the nightmares are gettin' worse. Every night, I see those smooth, brown eyes, the color of perfectly brewed coffee. I'm barely sleepin', and it's starting to show.

I find myself countin' down the days to Lee's party, hopin' I can get absolutely fluthered, and let loose for a while. Lord knows, I need to blow off some steam afore I snap.

Maybe this'll do the trick.

* * *

TREV–

I clock out when my shift is over, huffing a cigarette while I wait for Amy (I should really quit smoking) then we hop in her car. Well, technically Andy’s car, but same-same these days. Amy swings by her apartment first, then drops me off at my mom’s. After that she goes to pick up Andy from his job, and meanwhile I shower. I walk inside the three bedroom two-story house and pull my ear buds out of my ears. Presumably Corey is upstairs fucking around on his tablet, and dinner is in the microwave.

Mom is on the couch, and next to her is a guy with his arm around her, chuckling at what they’re watching on TV, and guzzling a beer. That’s Danny. Mom’s new boyfriend. It’s not the first guy she’s dated since dad passed away, but it’s the first guy she’s ever brought around me and Corey. The others didn’t make it far enough in the relationship to introduce to us, or just couldn’t be bothered to date a widow with two sons, because that’s a lot of baggage to unpack.

Now Danny, however, has been coming around for several weeks now and is here more often than his own place, and I expect he’ll be moving in with us soon. It’s not that it bothers me to see my mom with someone else besides my dad, and truly it’s been long enough for her to move on. She should move on, because I know dad would want her to be happy. But… well, it’s the guy she picked. When she first brought Danny home, I was hoping it wouldn’t last between them, because Danny’s a total ass, and I’m not looking forward to this guy becoming my step-father.

“Hey mom,” I say, then, “Hi Danny.”

Danny just grunts, rolling his eyes when he sees me because he thinks I should be “more of a man” and that I should “toughen up”, (Danny and Corey get along famously, by the way.) But mom smiles at me and says, “Hey, honey, how was your day?”

I shrug and say, “It was alright. Corey do his homework?” I then ask, because sometimes I need to double check because mom will forget to ask, and if we don’t crack down on the homework thing, Corey won’t do it, and his grades will slip. If they do, he’s kicked off the team. He loves playing, yet still he’s so ridiculously lazy and won’t put in the time to keep his grades up so he can keep playing. If it wasn’t me keeping track of his progress, it would be dad, but he’s not here anymore.

Mom nods at my question. Corey did his homework, and she remembered to check for herself that he did it. “I’m gonna go shower. It’s Corey’s turn to do the dishes tonight.”

Danny grunts again, clearly listening, despite how focused on the tv he looks. Without taking his eyes off of it, beer can raised halfway to his mouth, he grumbles, “Why you got them boys doin’ house work? You’re their momma. Ain’t you supposed to be the one doin’ the cookin’ and cleanin’?”

Mom looks uncomfortable for a second. “Well honey, they’re getting older I can’t do everything around this house by myself and work a full time job. They need to pitch in.”

He grumbles some more. “Well I’m just sayin’, doin’ house work is the woman’s job. Wouldn’t have to be workin’ if you’d just let me take care of ya. You could stay home and do shit for them like you’re supposed to.”

Oh I cannot fucking tell you how fucking wrong this is right now, and how badly I want to argue that no, cooking and cleaning is not just a “woman’s job” anymore, yes, my mother can do what the fuck ever she wants, and argue all of the points in Danny’s statement of just where he’s wrong, but my mouth won’t open. I can never argue with Danny. I always panic and freeze up because I just know that whatever I say will translate to him as me “backtalking” or “giving attitude”.

He acts like _anything_ I say is disrespectful because he’s my elder and I should just shut up and listen.

I do shut up though, but not just because I agree with him. I ball my hands into fists and wish with all my heart that mom would at least argue. But she doesn’t either. She’s where I get this from. Dad was the confident, outgoing, socially adept people person in the relationship. He was very driven, and a natural leader, which was why he joined the military. Which is why he was promoted to Sargeant, and why he’s… yeah, you get the picture. But mom has always been the quiet one. She’s quiet right now.

All she says is, “I know honey, I know,” and pats Danny’s leg. “We’ll talk about it later.”

‘We’ll talk about it later’ is code for, “I’ll take you upstairs, we’ll have sex, and you’ll forget all about the conversation.”

Because my mom, bless her bleeding fucking heart, doesn’t deal with confrontation any better than I do, and only knows what to say to avoid it.

“I’ll tell Corey to get off his tablet and do the dishes,” I say, then head upstairs.

Yeah, so maybe I suck at the whole confrontation shit with Danny, but with Corey? Whole different story. Like, lighting a fire under my brother’s ass to get him to get up and do his chores is nothing new. He may be bigger than me now, and maybe has good hand-eye coordination for basketball, but he can’t fight for shit still, so he doesn’t intimidate me in the slightest. Neither does complying with him affect my mother’s happiness, like it does with Danny. I swing open Corey’s door and he jumps in surprise, shrieking, “Dude! What the frick!”

“Get up and do the dishes.”

“Ew no! It’s your turn to do the dishes!”

“No, it isn’t. I did them yesterday, and mom did them the day before. So now it’s your turn, so get up off your lazy ass and do them.”

Corey frowns at me, but he doesn’t put his tablet down.

So I pull out the big guns.

“Corey Madison Lockheart! Get up off your ass and–”

“Okay okay!” he groans, then sets his tablet aside. He stands up and at his full height, he’s nearly a head taller than me, but I’m still not intimidated. “Seriously could you sound anymore like dad right now,” he says and my heart thumps.

I’d give anything to hear my dad’s voice right now.

“I wouldn’t be like this if you’d do what I asked the first time,” I say, and Jesus H fucking Christ I do sound like my dad. “It’s only because I care, and we can’t let mom struggle to do everything by herself. It’s not fair to her.”

“You mean _you_ can’t,” he corrects as he ambles over to the door, brushing past me. “I’m only sixteen. I’m a minor, and technically a child still.”

“Corey…”

His frown deepens. He rests a hand on my shoulder and adds, “You’re not him, Trevor. And you don’t have to act like him either. Just because he’s gone, it doesn’t mean you have to start filling his shoes or whatever. Would it kill you to maybe actually be my brother for a change?” He pats my shoulder, chirping, “Good talk,” then heads downstairs, leaving me standing in the open doorway of his bedroom. 

Like always, I stare for a second at the photo of dad Corey keeps on his dresser, then I slowly close the door.

I regret raising my voice at Corey, and per usual, I'll probably spend the whole rest of the night agonizing over everything I said.

I'll probably skip dinner too because I have no appetite when my anxiety hits.

I’m so tired of my life.

I doubt Lee’s graduation party this weekend will magically make it better, but it’ll at least help me forget about it for awhile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: ["Heathens"–Twenty One Pilots](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=oLeROuCMwj8&feature=share)
> 
> Lenny's Playlist : [Can Be Found Here](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs9t3Gq_3S-xySSBD43ZGThT)
> 
> Chat with the writers on Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


	5. Accentuate

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Found a video by accident, uploaded by a guy with a familiar sounding accent and…_
> 
> _Well, let’s just say it made me think of someone else with that accent, and now there’s someone I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, haven’t been able to get out of my head._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Song: ["Dizzy"–MISSIO](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=C9uZFF5Oerc&feature=share)

TREV– 

When I turned eighteen, mom gave me a lock set for my birthday.

Yeah, I know you’re probably thinking, “What a shit gift,” but no, it was actually pretty great. She looked at me and said, “You’re a grown adult now, which means I’m no longer responsible for you, and if you’re still going to live here, you’re going to need your privacy. Just don’t expect me to clean up after you anymore. We’re treating your bedroom like your apartment. You’re responsible for everything inside.” Pretty crazy, right? I mean, I know a ton of people that don’t have parents that considerate.

Even after they’re adults, if they’re still living with their parents, they treat you like you’re still a child to them because you’re under their roof. But mom actually got pretty progressive after dad died. We all had a bit of growing up to do when we lost him, and one of the changes mom made after she started working full time to keep up with the costs of living dad’s insurance wouldn’t cover, was that she gave me and Corey a lot more consideration than she would have previously.

So yes, I’m able to lock my bedroom door at night and get all the privacy I would get if I had my own apartment. Even if the door wasn’t locked, mom still knocks before she enters (we’re still training Corey to do the same though) so when I lie down under the covers, I know I wouldn’t be disturbed if I decided to masturbate. And right now, I’m so stupidly horny. My thoughts had started spiraling, thinking about dad, so I needed a distraction, watched some YouTube.

Found a video by accident, uploaded by a guy with a familiar sounding accent and…

Well, let’s just say it made me think of someone else with that accent, and now there’s someone I haven’t been able to stop thinking about, haven’t been able to get out of my head.

No, it’s not Garret, and honestly sexting him right now would probably do nothing for me. He’s sent me some dick pics and granted, the angle of the photo makes him look like he might be pretty big, but I just don’t want to picture _his_ face attached to those pics. Garret is not who has me all hot and bothered. Instead, I picture someone else, as I strip naked and hide under the covers. I’m not really worried about anyone catching on to what I’m getting ready to do, because I don’t make a lot of noise.

I picture long, dark hair, pulled back in a braid, and a body divested of clothing, laying on top of me. Somewhat tall, muscular, and speaks with a foreign accent. “Can’t get me outta yer head, can ya, boy‘o?” he asks me, his voice that of a husky whisper, and I bite my lip. I haven’t stopped thinking about that bartender. It was an Irish guy in that video I watched earlier, and now I’m imagining what he would’ve done had he been gay and came onto me that night, instead of kicking me out.

Had he maybe taken me back to his place when his shift let off. It’s easy to _picture_ sex with a guy in my mind, because I watch a lot of porn, so I have plenty of visuals, but the hard part is imagining what it would _feel_ like. It’s not like I can have a dildo shipped to my house either. Definitely do not want Corey or anyone else opening the package and seeing what it is. And even if I could, I highly doubt it would be anything like the real thing. So all I have is my hand, and a shit ton of curiosity.

I reach down to slowly jerk my shaft, imagining it’s his hand reaching down. I don’t really see things from a first person point of view in my head, for some reason, but rather like the third person perspective. Like I’m a fly on the wall, watching myself groaning in pleasure at his agonizingly slow touch. “Ya like that, do ya?” he murmurs and it’s the voice that does it. (I think I might have an accent kink or something.) My strokes get faster and harsher as I imagine his would.

Something about him strikes me as the rough type, the type that likes to get dirty and kinky. Maybe even dark. I wonder if he’d be a sadist and would get off on my pain, or just like to tease me for a good long while, getting a rise out of bringing me so close to the edge, only to withdraw at the last second, right before I come. I’m throbbing, imagining a dark look in his eyes as he stares down at me, watching my reactions. Much like the look he gave me that night. It was kind of hot.

Yeah I bet that comes as a surprise to you, doesn’t it? That I basically just admitted to being a kinky freak? What, did you think just because I’m a shy introvert and a total virgin that I wouldn’t be interested in that sort of thing? Just because I have no experience with a guy? Look, I’m not without internet access, okay? And I’m certainly not without the ability to watch porn and to masturbate. I’m _definitely_ not close minded to the idea of kink exploration either.

So I’m imagining he’s naked above me, resting on his calves as he jerks me off, and he’s hard as a rock, the head of his dick shiny and glistening with a bead of precum oozing out of the tip. I picture him above me, just dying to get inside me, and it makes me pulsate, but this time it’s not just my dick that’s throbbing, but some place deep inside making my hole clench and unclench repeatedly, like the flex of a muscle, aching to be filled. It doesn’t take long before I’m desperate enough to pause, and search for my lube.

I know just jerking it isn’t going to cut it this time around, because tonight I want to mimic the sensations of a few things I picture. So I take my hand off my dick and peel the covers back, sit up and search my nightstand for my bottle of lubricant. While anything like a plug or a dildo would appear suspiciously gay, just having a bottle of lube in my drawer would not draw as much suspicion, should a certain brother ever break in here and snoop around.

(Lotion would be a better choice to appear straight, but hey, you can use lube with your girlfriend too, and Jesus Christ please do if you ever do anal!)

I pop the cap on the bottle and settle back in my previous position, dropping the cold liquid on my fingers and smoothing it over them with my thumb. Then I set the bottle aside, though still close at hand for convenience, and I reach down. I close my eyes, and I’m back to picturing that sexy bartender naked above me, and reaching inside me with his fingers as he jerks me off. Maybe letting out a grunt or a groan of a sound, because he likes how tight it feels, clenching around his knuckles.

I start to shake, bending my knees and pressing my heels into my mattress, as my fingers hit some particularly sensitive areas inside, first around the rim, and then the deeper I insert them. My hand moves faster up and down my shaft too, bringing myself closer, my mind seeing those dark, heavy lidded eyes of his staring down at my cock and my hole with keen interest, almost bordering on total fascination, like a cat watching their favorite toy bouncing around.

I don’t know precisely what things he would say to me, or how he would word them, so beyond basic phrases, I don’t know how to imagine him saying sexy things to me to rile me up, but I do picture him cursing a lot. Muttering, “Fuck,” quietly under his breath, as he watches me come undone. But then the fantasy changes, as I’m trembling and jerking myself even harsher and faster.

It changes to him pulling his hand away and flipping me over, having loosened me up enough to fuck. I’m now on my knees and he’s behind me, lubing up his cock, lining himself up to fuck me just like that. As the image takes form behind my closed eyelids, in real life I roll over too, and get on my knees. But rather than fall forward on my hands, I lean back on my calves so I can keep my hands right where they are.

It starts to feel incredible, though I will still never know what he would feel like inside me. But my hands are doing exceptional work hitting all the right spots to drive me absolutely crazy, and god I want to come so bad. But I’m still not quite there yet, though I feel a shock of pleasure racing up my spine and spreading all throughout my body. But something is missing. Something… something kinky.

I want him to show me just how much of a dirty, filthy bastard he is, and do something drastic.

I want him to choke me.

Yeah. I said it. Choke me.

Don’t ask me why; I’ve never figured it out. But ever since I watched a video when I was about sixteen or so, I’ve been utterly obsessed with a guy putting his hand around my throat during sex. Maybe not cutting off my air completely, much less making me pass out, but at least holding their hand possessively around my throat while they fuck me. Maybe it’s subjective to the grieving process or something.

Like, I desire that type of conflict during sex because it assuages the trauma I experienced.

But all I know is that I’m in a real pickle if I’m going to get the feel of someone choking me out, while also getting the stimulation I need, with only two hands. I’m shaking and so very frustrated, as I withdraw both hands, plant them on the bed, and think for a second. Eyes darting around my room. It would so simple if I had a plug or something, to stimulate my prostrate while I simultaneously choke myself out and jerk off, but I don’t have that option.

(Wouldn’t it be nice though.)

Fuck I want this so bad.

I want to picture him in my mind squeezing my throat and maybe actually sort of feel it in real life too. I’ve choked myself before during masturbation, even strangled myself with a tie, so I know I like the feel of something around my neck, but… wait. I’ve got it. The idea comes to me randomly as I’m staring at my jeans on the floor, and see my belt still on them, as I’d never bothered to remove it. 

I catch a glimpse of the shining metal buckle in the dim LED lights decorating my room.

Is this actually going to work? I ask myself, because I’ve never used a belt before, and it could be dangerous, like, if the buckle go stuck somehow, but I’m so turned on by the idea of having something around my neck while I jerk off that I don’t even think that far ahead. I just scramble off my bed and quietly slide the belt through each loop until it’s free from my pants. Then, with trembling hands, I loop it around my neck and thread it through the buckle.

It doesn’t want to stay tight though, if I just let the length of it hang straight down, so I have to shimmy it to the side a little, and toss the length of it over my shoulder, but oh _god_ this is giving me ideas. Mostly the idea of that drop dead gorgeous bartender strangling me with his belt while he fucks me. I’m back on the bed now, and back in my previous position, sitting on my calves, and now there’s a tightness around my throat as the leather presses against my larynx.

Not cutting off my air, but sort of making me dizzy, as my oxygen intake is significantly less than before and I’m kind of digging how constricted I feel. My hand reaches for the lube and I pour generous amounts of it into my waiting palm, then close the bottle and toss it aside. Now I’m ready, so I resume my earlier task, and one hand reaches for my dick. The other hand shoves three fingers harshly inside me and I find a rhythm.

Still, in my mind, picturing him fucking me, grunting and huffing like a beast as he slams into me, his hand wrapped around my throat.

I get close than I ever had before I put the belt on, and after a minute I barely breathe at all, straining to keep that perfect angle, and perfect rhythm. Though my eyes are already closed, I squeeze them even more tightly shut, as finally– _finally_ –I’m being pushed over that edge when in my head a husky male voice whispers, “Come for me, love.” …God, the people I would murder to hear that voice saying it in real life. A small sound comes out, a sharp inhale.

And I come so hard after picturing it, that I give myself a leg cramp.

Yeah… it’s a good thing mom no longer washes my sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Theme Song: ["Heathens"–Twenty One Pilots](https://music.youtube.com/watch?v=oLeROuCMwj8&feature=share)
> 
> Lenny's Playlist : [Can Be Found Here](https://music.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLgsKe1-pKLs9t3Gq_3S-xySSBD43ZGThT)
> 
> Chat with the writers on Discord: <https://discord.gg/wVFt8Ke5YN>


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